


Eulogy

by slightly_ajar



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post Jack + Kinematics + Safe Cracker + MgKNO3 + GTO, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28810428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_ajar/pseuds/slightly_ajar
Summary: Set after Jack + Kinematics + Safe Cracker + MgKNO3 + GTOMac family were with him, they were grieving too, and while he didn’t want them to hurt he was glad to be with people who understood and shared his pain
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26





	Eulogy

The world keeps turning. Mac had never grown used to that. 

He’d expected it, for the people he passed on the street to be living their lives without the burden of his new loss or any awareness of the pain he and his friends were in. It wasn’t the first time Mac had lost someone, he knew how it could feel. But just because the feeling was familiar that didn’t make it comfortable. People had their own things to worry about, of course, their own disappointments and triumphs. The lady who’d thanked him for holding the door open for her earlier that day could have her own problems. The man who’d waved him past the security desk might have been dealing with issues that Mac couldn’t imagine. There was no way of knowing what other people were going through. Everyone wears a mask. 

Mac told himself that you pull yourself up and you stand and you keep moving, keep fighting, keep living, because what choice was there - but surely there should be some recognition? Someone important was gone, someone who’d loved and been loved, and that should matter. What was the point in any of what Mac and his friends did at the Phoenix foundation did if a loss like that didn’t matter? The ceremony at airport had been an acknowledgement as had the funeral with it’s wreaths and folded flag, but an ache in Mac’s gut told him that there should be much more. Jack wasn’t in the world anymore, there was a silent emptiness where he used to be, and everyone should know and care about that. 

Mac didn’t hate funerals. He hated leaving funerals. He hated being one to walk away. There was always the irrational feeling of ‘but we can’t leave them behind’ as the car he was in pulled away from the service. It felt like an abandonment. Carrying on with his life felt like an abandonment. 

“Hey,” Riley called. 

Mac’s world was blurred, disconnected from him and out of focus as if it didn’t really matter and he didn’t really belong in it. In stark contrast to that he was hyperaware of his own presence in space, acutely aware of the way his chest expanding with each breath and the tension drawing up his shoulders. He felt the solid press of Riley’s arm as she threaded it through his and the press of each of Russ’s fingers when he put his hand on Mac’s back. Mac family were with him, they were grieving too, and while he didn’t want them to hurt he was glad to be with people who understood and shared his pain. 

I’ve had an idea,” Russ said, “follow me.” 

  


Someone had been busy. Each bottle of bubble mixture in the box in Russ’s arms had a laminated label tied on with a piece of ribbon. 

“I don’t understand,” Riley said. 

“We're going to leave these for other people to find,” Russ explained, giving the box a rattle. He turned to walk backwards facing the Mac and his friends as he led them through the park. “We’ll leave them on the floor, on benches, all over the place. People will find them and it make will them smile.” 

“And...?” Mac prompted. 

That’s it,” Russ said. “People will smile. Trust me, you’ll get it soon.” 

There was nothing special about the park that Russ had brought them to, it was just the nearest one to the Phoenix’s headquarters. It was a nice space, green grass was shaded by leafy trees, a lake held ducks and territorial geese and there was a playground with swings, a slide, picnic benches and the rolling white noise of children playing. People were jogging, dogs were being walked and there was even a young couple playing with a Frisbee like something out a chewing gum commercial. 

“Here.” Russ handed Mac one of the bottle of bubbles, then passed one to Riley and rest of the team and gestured at the space in front of them. “Find somewhere to put those.” 

Bozer looked down at the bottle in his hand then back up at Russ again. “Right now?” 

“This very instant.” Russ gave an encouraging nod. 

_“So, Hoss,”_ Mac imagined Jack saying, _“whatcha gonna do?”_

“Okay,” Mac said. Because why not? Russ’s speciality was psy ops. He understood how people thought, what they wanted and what they needed. It was logical to assume that he knew how people dealt with loss and what they might need to help them through it. Surely if Mac did as Russ asked the whole reason what they were doing would become clear, and a little clarity would be welcome after days muddled with grief and regrets. 

Mac left his bottle on a bench, turning it around so the label hung right side up. He picked up another from Russ’ box and put it on the fence near the gate to the picnic area, then a third went at a child’s eye level on the knot of a tree. He felt foolish but purposeful, and when he looked around he saw his friends putting their own bottle around with self-conscious earnestness. 

As Mac was trying to decide where to leave the new bottle he was holding he saw a little girl spot one of the ones he’d already put down and tug on her mother’s hand to lead her towards it. The mother picked it up, read the label and smiled. And Mac got it. He watched, not caring if he was caught staring, as the little girl’s mother opened the bottle, pulled out the wand and blew. The little girl bounced in delight at the bubbles that appeared and jumped up to pop them, giggling as they burst under her tiny fingers and pointing at the ones she missed as they drifted towards the clouds. 

Mac and his friends found a bench and sat as the rest of the gifts they’d left out were discovered. Some people ignored the bottles, some people picked them up and put them in their pockets for later but most people opened them and blew bubbles of their own. 

The air was soon full of dancing, bobbing bubbles catching the sun. Some of them bumped together to form clumps that drifted up and away and some popped on the floor or against leaves or flowers or were burst by children or determined dogs. 

Everywhere Mac looked he could see people smiling and rainbow filled bubbles dancing in the air. 

An old man notice a bottle in the middle of the path and stooped to pick it up. As he read the label and his confused expression shifted into one of solemn understanding, he opened the bottle reverently, took a deep breath, held the wand to his lips and let out his breath slowly and steady, blowing the largest bubble he could. The bubble held steady for a second or two, a fragile, quivering circle of light, then burst wetly, splashing the mans’ face with sticky mixture. The man laughed to himself and tapped the bottles label. 

Mac couldn’t read the label from where he was sat but knew it’s words off by heart. ‘These are from Jack. He would want you to enjoy them’. 

He would. He would have loved the laughter and the way a border collie had just parkoured up a tree truck to catch the bubble it had been chasing. To the people in the park that day Jack was someone who had made them smile and filled the sky with delights; his legacy was one of happiness. All that joy had come through him. 

Mac’s cheeks were wet as his lips curved into a smile. 

“Jack would have liked this,” he said. 

**Author's Note:**

> I saw an interview with a lady and her young son on TV last year, the boy's twin brother had passed away from an illness several years before and the mum said that on the anniversary of his death she and her son left out dinosaur toys for other people to find with notes on saying to take them home and enjoy them.
> 
> I thought that was such a lovely way of honouring someone - doing something that would make someone else happy - that I've borrowed it for this story.


End file.
